Brenda Catherine Murphy

Brenda Catherine Murphy, née Damm, 57, departed this plane on 16 November 2025, perhaps to organize the afterlife's punk rock scene and argue with whoever's in charge of the venues. True to form, she did an Irish goodbye on her way out; no fuss, no long farewells, just slipping away when she was damn well ready.

Music was a huge part of her, and it was loud, raw, and unapologetically punk rock, just like her. But she also had a touch of the folk and country she grew up with in Wisconsin.

She devoured books like they might disappear. Her father taught her a lifelong love of the written word, and that love never faded. She read anything and everything and never stopped asking questions or learning something new.

Her humor was sharp enough to draw blood; sarcastic, perfectly timed, devastatingly funny. She had opinions, and she shared them. When she dug her heels in about something, you knew you were in for it, but that stubbornness was part of why we loved her. She was wholly, completely herself.

She leaves behind her husband Marcus, their three cats, and hosts of friends who already miss her terribly and are convinced she's somewhere orchestrating chaos just to keep things interesting for those of us still here.

In lieu of tears (she'd roll her eyes), crank up some loud music, read something that challenges you, and live like you mean it. In lieu of flowers, please donate your time, money, or energy to a cause that brings good to the world. Her favorites were her local humane society and The Nature Conservancy.